


On A Good Day - Part One

by SanSanFanFan



Series: The On A.... Day SanSan Smut Series [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little fluffy, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's cleverness leads her to unexpected outcomes. Such as having to take care of a wounded Sandor... bedbaths included.</p><p>The fifth part of the 'On a.... Day' series </p><p>Just for fun... smut with increasing plot.  Chronologies are mostly ignored tbh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Good Day - Part One

Ser Meryn Trant had not stopped laughing and snorting to himself since he had first seen her, standing waiting for him, an empty bedpan in her hands. Now she followed after his quick footsteps, enduring his sniggering as she and the maid, who was carrying the bowl of warm soapy water, were escorted, under his ‘care’, to the barracks of the Kingsguard. He reached a door that Sansa was familiar with and paused in his dark humour to knock at it brusquely.

A tall thin young man opened the door cautiously, his grey robes ill-fitting and his novice’s chain barely supported by his long crooked neck. Sansa fumed under the cover of her demure face. They hadn’t even sent Grand Maester Pycelle to him! Just some link-less youth!

“Yes, ser?” The novice’s voice quavered.

“You dress his fucking wound yet?”

“Yes, ser…”

“Good. King’s orders. You’re to leave his care to the… ‘Lady’ Stark… now.” Meryn smiled that vile smile again. “She’s to slop out his shit, not you…”

“The Lady Stark?!” The Maester looked back to where she stood in her plainest dress. “That’s surely no task for a high born lady!”

“Sounds like good practice to me, for when she’s caring for some whoreson’s bastards!” Trant bellowed and laughed at his own humour. The young maester in training wrinkled his nose, either at the jest or Meryn’s breath, Sansa wasn’t certain.

“Very well, two pairs of hands will be more than enough-”

“Oh no, the maid’s just delivering the water.” He turned back and smirked at Sansa. “The Stark bitch is to do this on her own. The King said so.”

“But… but… for propriety’s sake! She should be escorted in his company!”

“Do you think he can take her in his condition?”

The young maester blushed red, and Sansa did likewise. 

“I think… I think not…”

“Good. Then as soon as he tries to we’ll know he’s mended, won’t we?” He pushed the maester in training out of the way and dragged her in by her upper arm. The room was dark, and smelt of the strange poultices the young man had used in his dressing of the wound. 

She saw him then, a dark shape propped up in his bed, a thick bandage running around his side and chest, dark bruising already creeping from its edges. He was asleep, or seemed to be.

Trant took the bed pan from her hands and flung it down under the bed, making a loud clanging noise. The Hound stirred and opened his eyes.

“Got you a nursemaid, Clegane. King’s orders! She’s going to help you get over that scratch you got because you’re too damn old and too damn slow!”

The Hound glared at him from under hooded eyes. Sansa would not like to be Meryn when Sandor regained his strength. The loud Kingsguard chuckled again though, before ripping the basin from the maid’s hands and forcing it into Sansa’s, spilling half of it as he did.

“Clean him up. _All_ of him mind.”

Trant then gathered up the young maester and the maid and pushed them both out of the Hound’s room, slamming the door behind them.

Sansa relaxed then, finally. She went to where the novice had left a chair by the side of the bed, feeling Sandor’s eyes on her as she had walked over. She sat neatly, almost primly.

“Well, girl. I’m sure this was not how you imagined spending your time this day.”

She smiled. “Perhaps not… but at least it is with you.”

He laughed darkly and grimaced as the movement shifted his wounds. 

“Does it hurt very much?” She’d risen with the pain on his face, and hovered by his side, looking at the thick bandages.

“Had worse. I’ll be up and about in a week or so. And then I’ll show you how well I’ve mended…” 

He left that thought hanging and she flushed, feeling his effect on her as always. She turned, seeking something away from the intensity of his dark look roaming over her. She faced his dresser and paused as she took in the many, many more stones, petals and feathers that were there since the last time she had come here, on the night of his Name Day feast. A small white shell with pink edging caught her eye where it sat at the front. She picked it up and ran her fingertip over the sharpness of its edge.

“More good days?” She asked him, still facing away from him.

“Aye. More good days.” She heard him move on his bed. “The water’s getting cold girl.”

She turned back, a quizzical look on her brow.

“Don’t worry about the bedpan… I can probably make it to the privy by myself, I’ll spare you that.”

“But I should…” She gestured to the bowl of soapy water.

“Bet you’re regretting being so seven times damned clever now, aren’t you lass, now you have to actually clean the dog?” There was humour in his voice, but also a sadness, as though he expected her to agree with him, and to curse the series of events that had brought her here, to be his nursemaid.

She smiled sweetly at him though, trying to project something of what she felt for him. Even if she could not name it herself exactly…

“I am under the King’s orders, am I not? As are you?”

He grunted, his opinion on that obvious.

“You are under the King’s orders, and yet you still fuck his… ‘honoured guest’… when you can.” He jumped slightly at her language, but she smiled to show her intent, and continued. “Because it pleases you to do so. And I will care for you this week, because it pleases me to do so.”

She rolled up her sleeves, took the basin and knelt at the side of his bed. Her comments had already stirred him, she saw that now. The sheets, thin and worn as they were, whispered as he shifted in the bed, his manhood pushing up at them. She carefully, gently, pulled them away from his body, taking in the numerous bruises from his fight, the earthy smell of him, and the dirt from his armour and the times he’d been cast to the floor of the battlements during the tourney. And then she plainly saw him rising there, proud and hard. 

She rinsed a cloth on the basin and swept away the dirt, starting with his arms, gentle fingertips turning his arm so that she could run over the thick dark hairs and the muscles built by years of raising a sword for others. Then she moved over his chest, careful not to go too close to the bandages and poultice, her hair drifting free from the slight braid she’d held it in and touching his skin. She swept the cloth around his neck, feeling his pulse quicken as his dark eyes never left her. Then she began the slow descent down towards his manhood, tracing lines of muscle that pointed down to him there. He groaned and hardened further. 

Then she was almost there, pausing for a moment to wring the cloth and drawing a frustrated moan from him. Joffrey must have thought to shame her with this, that the maiden would scream in horror at the thought of seeing the fierce warrior’s body, let alone tending to it. But she already knew it well by now. She knew how he liked her to nip a little with her teeth on the head of his cock. She knew how it could fill her and make her scream out a song of wantonness. She knew how gentle his manhood could be, lying against the cheeks of her posterior as they stole moments of sleep in secret rooms after their occasional rutting. Joffrey had chosen the wrong punishment, and she enjoyed cleaning him there as well. She made the linen cloth to the shape of her hand and ran both up and down his manhood, urging more moans from him. 

“Sansa… I don’t know if I should…” There was a warning in his tone, and she paused. 

“Oh gods, fuck it, if I bleed I bleed! Don’t stop!” She set back to her task again, delighting in the way his fists clenched and his body tensed as he circled to his peak. And then he was spilling his seed within the linen, groaning in pain and pleasure at once. 

As he breathed quickly she looked over his bandages, happy that the young maester’s work had kept the man together as she had taken him apart.

“We oughtn’t do that again… for a while.” He sounded tired, but he raised a hand to stroke her face as she sat back on the chair.

“You should sleep.” 

“Aye, may be that you’re right. Sing me a song, girl. Sing me to sleep.” 

She blushed a little thinking of what he might mean, but he laughed and corrected her. “A real song, little bird.”

She flustered under his attention. 

“You are ordered to take care of me aren’t you? Or have I found you regretting your bloody cleverness again?” 

“Not at all.” It had been her cleverness that had got them here, and as she sang she remembered the events of the day, and she was certain that she did not regret it at all, only minding that he had been hurt along the way.

***

_That Morning..._

The day had started poorly, and as she sighted Joffrey heading towards her, Sansa feared that it would only be getting worse as it progressed.

First off, Margaery had sent her apologies in a note that arrived as Sansa waited in their pagoda for breakfast with her. Sansa had read it quickly, and read between the lines. Margaery was very sad to say, but after a late dinner with the King last night, she had awoken with a terrible headache and would not be coming to join her. Or rather, she’d drunk rather too much wine in order to find the evening more pleasurable. Lately, Margaery had been confiding in Sansa more of her true feelings for her betrothed, and Sansa’s past betrothed. It seemed that they were of a like mind in this also.

So in lieu of a delightfully gossipy breakfast with the brunette, Sansa had wandered down to the shoreline, taking in the sea air and daydreaming of home. It was there that Joffrey had found her, the Hound an ever present dark shadow at his back. 

“Dreaming of escape, ‘Lady’ Sansa.” Only Joffrey could put that particular inflection into her title.

“Of course not your Grace. I am very happy here.” She kept her tone neutral, but that only ever seemed to annoy him more these days. “I was merely admiring the many craft your Grace has on the water.” She risked a look at the Hound, but he was as impassive as ever, a great stone statue. Sometimes she caught him in a smirk at something Joffrey said, but today he seemed under control.

She could almost feel Joffrey’s mind running through possibilities of torment for her. He seemed unsure of how to progress. Nothing she had said had given him an opening to dig into, nothing he could needle her with or mock her for. And then it struck her. An idea that was so simple she was not sure for a moment that even Joffrey was fool enough to be caught in it. But she might at least try.

She drew a little closer to Joffrey, trying not to smile as he seemed to jump at the unexpected movement. The Hound placed a hand on his sword out of habit, but she felt sure he would not draw it on her.

“Your Grace… does _he_ have to be here?” 

Joffrey looked confused, and she wondered if sometimes he forgot the Hound that followed him everywhere. “Who… my dog? Does my dog bother you?”

She mock shivered, and said as pitifully as she could. “It’s his eyes… the way he looks at me. It is like he is _undressing_ me with them.” She tried very hard not to remember their last encounter where he had found her walking near the Great Hall and, after she had called him, he had stripped her naked in a store room, before licking her to a song so loud she’d thought some cook would surely find them. His sword set between the door and a heavy barrel would have prevented that, but her excitement had strangely increased as she’d thought about that.

But now, she concentrated on a look of dread as she cautiously looked up at the scarred fighter. “Please your Grace… he makes me very…”

“Scared.” Joffrey said the word with relish, savouring it.

“Yes.” Her voice was so small she wasn’t sure Joffrey had heard, but the way he shivered made it obvious that he had. His mind was churning over possibilities, dark smirks rising on his lips.

“Dog! The Lady Sansa looks tired…”

“No. No I’m not!” Joffrey glared at her for daring to speak out. But she knew he liked her more like this than the meek and passive ‘guest’. 

“Take her back to her chambers, and put her to bed. Excuse her maids, you can undress her yourself!”

“No! No! Please, not that!” Sansa’s voice shook and cracked, but her internal voice was triumphant.

Joffrey grabbed the Hound and pulled him closer, whispering something in his ear. Anyone else would have died for such a gesture but the Hound just nodded as he listened.

“As the King commands.” He grabbed her by her upper arm and yanked her down the beach towards the Keep in silence. 

But then, as they were almost off of the sand, he whispered down to her, hoarsely. “Look back girl, does he still watch?”

She swung widely around in his grasp, as though trying to pull from him. It gave her a chance to look back along their footsteps. The King had summoned four red cloaks and was walking another path back to the gardens. “No, he has stopped.”

“Good.” The Hound bent over quickly and picked up a small white shell with pink edging, before continuing to march her back to her chambers.

***

Sansa’s maid protested as the Hound pushed her from the room, screeching about propriety and courtesies as the man crashed about in Sansa’s bedroom. But she left when he mentioned the King had sent him.

Then it was just the two of them. 

Sansa stood uncertain as to what was going to happen. He’d been here before, but things had been so different then. She almost thought to offer him some tea or some sweetened milk, just to have something to do with her hands in the silence.

“Clever girl,” she was surprised to see respect on his face. “I doubt anyone but that cunt Joffrey would have fallen for such an obvious move…. But then he doesn’t know how I’ve made you scream and moan does he?”

She flushed at his coarseness, but could not deny that it heated her too.

He reached inside of his breastplate and pulled out a small package. “I got you some more of those herbs you said you needed…” She took them quickly and hid them away in a book, the centre of which she had carved away. The book was on the birds of Westeros, and she doubted any of her maids would be interested enough to open it.

“What if someone sees you buying them? Or what if the man you bought them from talks about you?!” 

“He’s a just some failed maester living in Fleabottom. Told him I’ve got a woman in the city. But he don’t care about much as long as my coin is good.”

“Maybe… maybe you should be seen with a woman in town.”

He grunted dismissively. “Enough of that now.” His eyes roamed over her, and she shivered. “I’m under King’s orders you know, to see you undressed for bed…”

“What did he whisper to you?” She started to undo her laces on her bodice, going slowly to tease him.

“Said that if I raped you he’d have my cock cut off, and then he’d parade me through the streets on all fours, with it in my mouth.”

“I didn’t know he cared…”

“He still has plans for your maidenhood, girl.”

She let the dress fall to the floor, and stood there in her shift. “He’s a little too late.”

Moments passed as she waited for him to approach, and he did not move, standing as impassive in his armour as he ever did by Joffrey’s side. She looked at him quizzically.

“Surely you don’t still need me to say it…?”

“Call the dog, girl.”

“Why?”

He shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Because, threats from the cunt king or no, I’m no raper…”

“Of course you aren’t!”

“And one day you may say no.”

“On my moonblood, perhaps-” But she did not think that he meant that and he interrupted her quickly.

“No. One day you may say no. Because there is another. Or you are married. There are other men... fairer men, with better claims on better lands.”

“Come here, dog!” 

She channelled all the imperiousness she could manage into the command, and after months of meek subservience in the Keep she had to admit that there wasn’t all that much left. But it had the desired effect on him, and he swept her up, not caring that he still wore his Kingsguard armour. Between them they rolled about on the bed, undoing buckles and freeing him. 

Then he led her to the stone wall by the locked door, and turned her to face against it, her rear towards him as he roamed hands over her shift, rolling her nipples between fingers as he pressed against her back. Then his hands were on her small clothes and pushing them down her thighs before his fingers ran through her damp curls and found ways into her slick folds. 

“You are wet for me.” 

It sounded both like a statement and something of a surprise to him. Often when he found her walking the halls and stole moments with her he seemed astounded that her body reacted to him in this way. She moaned as a thick finger rubbed her core of pleasure and then dipped into the depths of her. Then he was freeing himself from his breeches and grabbing her hips in both hands to pull her backwards onto him. She was still amazed that he could fit himself within her, but the pain was long gone, replaced only with a rolling, building pleasure as he tested how rough he could be with her. His strength was tempered by her needs, but she always felt as though there was well of passion still leashed within him, as he was afraid to hurt her. But as he plunged into her, lifting her slightly with his movements, his chest against her back, she felt her climax coming upon her.

And then someone knocked at the door.

“Sansa?” 

They stopped still. Sansa recognised Margaery’s voice. 

“Sansa, are you awake sweetling?” 

Sansa made a low groan as Sandor resumed his movements, achingly slowly. He near fully drew himself out from her, before pushing hard into her again.

“Have I woken you? The King said that you were abed…?”

The slow motions within her were driving her mad, and she tried to push back against him. But then he covered her mouth over with his large hand and drove into her again, escalating his pace until she wanted to scream against his hand in pleasure. But she kept quiet.

“Well… if you feel up to it, the King has announced a small afternoon’s entertainment, some sparring by the northern battlements. Loras has volunteered already of course.”

“Yes!” She shouted, the word bursting from her mouth and past his fingers as she came hard, feeling him spill his seed hotly inside of her.

“Oh good! I will see you there!” 

And Margaery’s footsteps drifted away as the two of them regained themselves and their wits.


End file.
